Some people are afraid of heights, giving speeches or spiders. How I long for a simple fear, any fear to haunt my dreams but, none will come. The resident ghost is at home always, night and day in my soul never to be shaken never to be forgotten, never to let go.

As with most stories this one begins with a boy. A very magnanomous boy. He had hair the color of sand yet untarnished by grit and eyes that shone like crescent tidepools, and as he lay in the cold bathtub his blue lips now only callous reminders that the world had seen it's last smile parted and spoke their last love of me. Were they there or was it my mind numbing and filling in blanks as it tends to do when I find myself back in the bath with Christopher?

My mind has raced over it, circling the facts, absorbing what little I can and starting again as I rock curled like a small child in the nightmares of lifes own creation. If I had answered the phone would he be in my arms now. If I had never spoken to Marc at that party. Yet there is nothing I can do as he is gone when I awake each morning and I am the corpse left to curl and decay in the tub.